Nadia arrived at Verdant headquarters early, hoping to salvage a few hours of quiet before the inevitable flood of calls, emails, and press requests. The glass tower still smelled faintly of cleaning solution, the hallways echoing with her footsteps. She relished the silence. It was the only peace she ever seemed to get anymore.
But peace lasted less than twenty minutes.
Her assistant, Sophie, burst in holding a tablet. Her face was pale. "You need to see this."
Nadia braced herself. Sophie slid the device across the desk. A news site blazed across the screen, headlines in bold black:
IS THE GREEN MARRIAGE A SHAM? Sources Question Petrova-Kingsley Union.
Nadia's stomach dropped. She scanned quickly. The article was long, detailed, and laced with innuendo. It quoted "anonymous insiders" who claimed the couple often spent nights in separate rooms. It pointed out how quickly the marriage had been arranged. It highlighted Tom's sudden, dramatic support of Verdant as "conveniently timed."
And at the bottom, the byline burned her eyes.
Reported by Daniel Price.
One of Blake's men.
Nadia pushed the tablet back toward Sophie. "Cancel my morning calls. Get our PR lead on the phone. And send Kingsley a copy of this immediately."
Sophie hesitated. "Do you… do you think the investors will see this?"
"Of course they'll see it," Nadia snapped, then forced herself to soften. "We'll manage it. Go."
When the door closed, Nadia let her head drop into her hands. Her chest ached with frustration. She had warned Tom. She had told him Blake would come for them. And here it was—proof that their cracks were already being exploited.
---
Tom read the article in his office at Kingsley Hotels, jaw tightening with each line. His phone buzzed constantly—texts from board members, calls from journalists, alerts from his communications team. He ignored them all.
Instead, he called Nadia.
She answered on the second ring. "You've read it."
"Of course I have," Tom said. "I'm already drafting a response."
"No." Her voice was clipped, firm. "No statements yet. Anything we say will look defensive. We wait."
"Wait?" His tone sharpened. "They're painting us as frauds."
"And if we lash out, we'll confirm it."
Tom leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. "So what do you propose? Just sit here while Blake poisons the narrative?"
Her silence crackled through the line. When she spoke again, her voice was lower. "We prove him wrong. Not with words. With action."
---
By afternoon, the article had gone viral. News outlets picked it up, social media buzzed with speculation, and Verdant's stock wavered on the exchange.
Nadia met Tom in the penthouse after work. She walked in, tablet in hand, exhaustion carved into her face. Tom was already there, jacket off, tie loose, a glass of scotch abandoned on the counter.
"You're late," he said, though his tone held more worry than reproach.
"I had to calm my staff," Nadia replied flatly. She set the tablet down and turned to him. "Blake has us cornered. We need to make the marriage look stronger than ever."
Tom studied her. "And how do you suggest we do that?"
She hesitated, then forced the words out. "An interview. Together. We invite the press into our home. Make them see us—see the reality. Not Blake's fiction."
Tom arched a brow. "The reality?"
She flushed, regretting the phrasing. "The appearance of reality."
His lips curved faintly. "Careful, Nadia. You almost sounded like you believed in us."
"Don't," she said sharply. "This is strategy. Nothing more."
But Tom saw the flicker in her eyes, the hesitation she couldn't quite mask. And it gave him hope.
---
They prepared obsessively. Tom called in his PR team, Nadia drilled herself with possible questions. They argued over details: where to sit, what to wear, who should answer which lines of inquiry.
By the night before, tension had stretched thin between them. They rehearsed in the study, their responses clipped and professional.
"What if they ask why we married so quickly?" Nadia said.
"Then we say we've known each other for years," Tom replied smoothly. "That we've always had chemistry."
Nadia stiffened. "Chemistry?"
"Is it such a stretch?" His eyes locked on hers, challenging.
She looked away. "We don't need romance in the story. We need stability."
"Sometimes romance is the stability," Tom said quietly.
Her pulse jumped, but she ignored it, moving to the next hypothetical.
"Fine. And if they ask about the separate bedrooms?"
"Then we tell them it's temporary. Renovations. Adjustments. Newlyweds figuring things out."
Her brows furrowed. "That won't hold."
"Then we make sure it does," he said, stepping closer. "Which means from tonight, no more separate rooms."
Nadia froze. "That wasn't part of the agreement."
"It is now."
Her breath caught. "You're exploiting this."
"No," Tom said, voice steady. "I'm protecting us. And the only way to protect us is to be real enough that even Blake can't poke holes in it."
She stared at him, fury and panic twisting in her chest. But beneath it, a dangerous truth whispered: maybe he was right.
---
That night, for the first time, Nadia didn't sleep in her separate guest suite. She lay stiffly on the far side of Tom's bed, the city lights spilling across them. She could hear his breathing, steady and unhurried. She hated how aware she was of his nearness—the warmth of his body, the quiet strength of his presence.
She told herself it was just part of the strategy. Just another move in the game.
But when Tom reached over in the dark and gently took her hand, she didn't pull away.
---
The next day, the press arrived.
Cameras filled the penthouse living room, lights glaring, microphones extended. Nadia sat beside Tom on the sofa, her dress immaculate, her smile carefully measured. He rested his hand casually against hers, as though it belonged there.
The journalist began with soft questions—how they met, what drew them together. Tom answered easily, slipping charm into every word. Nadia followed his lead, her tone cool but convincing.
Then the questions sharpened.
"Some claim your marriage was arranged to benefit both companies. How do you respond to accusations it's more business than love?"
Nadia's throat tightened. She opened her mouth, but Tom beat her to it.
He turned to her, gaze warm, voice soft but clear. "I married Nadia because she's the most extraordinary woman I've ever known. Business had nothing to do with it. If anything, business made it harder. But I'd have risked everything to stand beside her."
The room fell silent. Cameras clicked. The journalist leaned forward.
"And Nadia, do you agree?"
Her heart pounded. She felt the weight of Tom's eyes, the sincerity that wrapped around his words. She knew it was strategy. She knew it was a performance. But in that moment, something inside her cracked.
"Yes," she said quietly. "I agree."
---
The interview aired within hours. Clips spread online, praised for their authenticity. Headlines shifted overnight:
Petrova and Kingsley Silence Critics.
Love at the Heart of the Green Marriage.
Vogel's office sent a congratulatory note. Verdant's stock stabilized. Kingsley Hotels' reputation surged.
They had won.
But when the cameras were gone and the penthouse was quiet again, Nadia sat at the edge of the bed, her pulse still racing. She replayed Tom's words in her head—I'd have risked everything to stand beside her.
It had sounded too real. Too unscripted.
She turned as Tom entered, removing his tie. He caught her gaze, then paused. "What?"
"You didn't have to say that," she said.
He tilted his head. "Didn't I?"
"It was… risky. Too personal."
"Sometimes the truth is the most convincing."
Her chest tightened. "That wasn't truth."
Tom studied her for a long moment. Then, quietly, "Wasn't it?"
The air thickened between them. For once, Nadia had no retort. She couldn't decide what terrified her more—the possibility that he was lying, or the possibility that he wasn't.
---
Across the city, Richard Blake slammed the tablet onto his desk. The interview played in the background, Nadia and Tom smiling, their hands entwined, every inch the perfect couple.
"Damn them," he muttered.
His assistant hovered nervously. "It… it was convincing, sir. The public's buying it."
Blake narrowed his eyes. "Convincing doesn't mean real. No façade lasts forever."
He leaned forward, voice cold. "Dig deeper. If we can't prove the marriage is false, then we'll break them another way. Everyone has a weakness. Find theirs."
---
That night, Tom lay beside Nadia in the dark. She kept her eyes closed, her breathing even, but her mind wouldn't rest. His hand brushed lightly against hers on the sheets, tentative, waiting.
This time, she didn't pull away.
And for the first time, she admitted to herself that the line between business and something else had already begun to blur.